Serene
by ForeverinMoonlight
Summary: Serenity was useless.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Never have. Never will._

* * *

**Serene**

Serenity. The word conjured up beautiful images – vivid, extreme but radiating peace. Things with unimaginable depth to them, capturing a feeling of calm that reverberated within one's very soul; filling it with comfort and engulfing intensity – an impact which perhaps faded but never truly left you. Creations of Nature often defined this – a tranquil lake that soothed all else away, a secluded location which inspired, a range of mountains where distance failed to ebb away their magnificence... This was a list which the optimists and idealists among all believed to be endless. Endless... Yes, Nature truly understood the word 'serenity', continuing to create concepts and locales which were imbued with, no – _were _tranquility on every possible level.

Nature was not to be contended with. Only a fool would believe that they could be the epitome of serenity, greater define it than the world's most powerful forces ever could. Serenity was a word of depth; the concept was beyond anyone's understanding. This was Kuchiki Byakuya's opinion which he would eternally stick by. He himself had never fallen to such delusion – instead he saw serenity as something to emulate, a rule to draw understanding from. A state to admire. Yes, he admired the glory of Nature – which could be understatement, overstatement and anything in between with quick and fluid ease. Understatement especially affected him – the way something gave an outward appearance of quiet and meekness... Meekness, which was so easily confused for weakness. Indeed, it could be quiet, but lack of strength... no. The understated could never be described in such a way. It was just that, understated – the meekness and 'weakness' were mere illusions for those with lack of vision, always disguising unbelievable depth, profound beauty and greater stature than many could not hope to achieve in even infinite, everlasting cycles of existence.

Understated; like a single flower petal on one's palm – small, delicate, not fragile but exquisitely beautiful... Nature's, a tree's tear of joy. Gathered together in refined glory, then falling gracefully to gift and blanket the ground with. Eventually dulling into nothing, but the vivid memory remained in one's mind, the beauty immortalised and never to be forgotten. Understatement, serenity... the two terms were forever interlinked, woven together.

Kuchiki Byakuya saw Nature's endless examples of serenity as something to learn from. He emulated it, but did not copy. Instead, he sought to preserve some of the state inside himself. A mere snapshot, but it was enough. He became serene, the myriad of feelings often found in his tumultuous depths were never shown, never bared to the outside world. He worked hard to maintain his outward tranquility, aimed to let the feeling bubble out from within the depths of his soul. He showed calm in his posture, his composure – walked and talked with an understated magnificence that befitted his status and imbibed true placidity.

Just like serenity, his outward impression could be considered misleading. However, in Kuchiki Byakuya it was far more clear that he was not to be messed with. 'Weakness' was a term never attached to him, he radiated understatement but also evident power which commanded respect in even the most retarded of dullards. He excelled beyond his station and a feeling of wonder resonated in all who encountered him.

Kuchiki Byakuya was a fine example of composure. Not a person in Soul Society could deny it. He retained a respected reputation; he was strong, tranquil, reliable.

It was a reputation he was rather proud of.

--

Many more people than Byakuya would care to admit suspected that he was not as constantly serene as he would like them all to think.

They were right, of course. It was impossible to maintain composure forever – even if the Kuchiki Head was in denial of this fact, determinedly ignoring it and tightening the imaginary bounds to his impeccable standards that bordered on unrealism.

However, he was not completely blind – though he did wait until moments where not a soul would be watching him before finally letting down his guard (his pride would not permit witnesses).

This was one of those moments.

What would people think of the sight of Kuchiki Byakuya, unflappable extraordinaire, drooping in sheer relief? His whole countenance crushed as he physically drooped, heaving a long sigh as he did so. Self-consciousness did not press on him, did not even _occur _to him as the wave of intense feeling hit him and engulfed his very being. _Thank... you... Kami-sama._ Finally, alleviation. _Finally_, she was down. Out for the count. Asleep.

It had been a long day. Such a long, _long_ day. Time had dragged by like physical, slow-acting agony. He had been up since before dawn, till whatever insanity of an hour this was... continuously _on the go_. That would have been alright, but he had been forced to drag himself into meeting upon meeting, conference upon conference, and when he thought he'd earned himself a break... The Universe had other ideas, in the form of Zaraki Kenpachi and Kusajishi Yachiru.

Hah, a _break_. It was laughable now. Such a concept evidently did not exist for the Head of the Kuchiki Clan and rokubantai-taichou. Zaraki Kenpachi had lumped him with the duty of watching over Yachiru for the evening, without a care for Byakuya's opinion on the matter; literally _shoving _the child in his face and leaving as quickly as he had arrived. The jyuuichibantai-taichou had then dared to not show up at the allotted time (which had been hastily grunted at Byakuya before he'd stalked off). Hours later, he was still a no-show – proving to Byakuya that he was not merely directionally retarded but morally bankrupt as well. The pink-haired fukutaichou had clearly been stuffed full of candy prior to her unceremonious dropping off in Byakuya's care, which was not terribly surprising. However, what _was_ was the sheer amount that she had been fed with (one could only pray that she was not growing immune to the stuff; elimination of the one defence against Yachiru was elimination of all remaining hope in the world). High did not even begin to describe the state she had been in – she had literally been pinging off the walls in her apparently limitless energy rush.

Yes, the moment he had been handed Yachiru Kuchiki Byakuya had known that he was going to be in for a _looong_ evening. The suffering set in store for him was at unimaginable heights – tedious meetings utterly failed to cover it.

He could not even pass this daunting task to his fukutaichou. Abarai Renji was currently out of action, in the Fourth Division with a head injury from some meaningless incident or another. This normally would not have... bothered him so, but all he could think of presently were dark, snide comments which went along the lines of '_excellent_ timing, Abarai. You've avoided this nicely.' It had been a long day. What had been mere fatigue had long set into deep weariness – Kusajishi Yachiru tended to do that to you. Especially if she had took the term 'sugar high' to a whole new level, and if her 'playmate' was in no mood to deal with her.

Still, he was a Kuchiki. He did any job without complaint. He did not whine. He was composed. He was serene. Such thoughts fast became a mantra in the company of Yachiru, and despite Byakuya's best efforts, he could feel himself losing. His composure slowly eroding into nothing, grated at, the dust cast away into a void of nonexistence. He wished he could join it; let himself go, give into the blank mercy. He could not. He was trapped, weariness sinking into his very core, rendering his attempts at recovering himself futile. Serenity was useless.

He was so very _tired_.

If one was so inclined to believe in such things, evil forces had had a hand in Byakuya finding himself in this situation. However, perhaps the good forces were making their existence known again.

Kusajishi Yachiru had fallen asleep.

Relief. Oh, the _relief _that that statement brought... The sight of a sleeping Yachiru warranted a choir of heavenly voices singing their joy nearby, a beam of light shining on the suddenly peaceful girl that made one want to sob at its beauty, at the hope, the relief... it was _miraculous._ Such song and illumination would undoubtedly rouse her (and bring with it a feeling similar to one experienced at the ruin of the world), but it nevertheless was a sight that Kuchiki Byakuya had been looking forward to.

_Thank you Kami-sama_.

Yachiru slept quietly, her expression radiating such contentment and placidity that it threatened to tug at Byakuya's heart. It was almost... _cute_. However, he was past entertaining such notions now. After the relief had encompassed him, one fact had fast become apparent to his near desperate, sleep-deprived mind. This was his perfect chance to escape. Yachiru's inactivity was merely a temporary respite, but one which he was determined to take advantage of. His patience was not going to last a lengthy amount of time; his composure was already cracked. He was going to retreat to bed and into the realm of sleep before he shattered altogether. Frankly, he cared little about what happened to Yachiru. He would force the third seat to watch her. The first officer from his division that he came across... the third, twelfth, twentieth, unranked... it did not matter. This was not a cowardly course of action to take – it was tactical, wise and spoke sense to even the most common of people.

There were multiple issues which arose with his plan of escape. Byakuya would deal with them in an effective manner – one at a time, as calmly and rationally as he could. The first one was the fukutaichou herself; more specifically, where she was positioned. She had fallen asleep on Byakuya's shoulder, splodges of paint and Senbonzakura knows what riddling her relaxed, flat-out form. She was drooling slightly in her slumber, the liquid oozing down Byakuya's clothes and trickling down his neck unpleasantly. The Kuchiki Head, in his current state, could summon little more than an indignant twitch to satisfy his sullied pride. There were other concerns to be addressed, far more important matters to currently focus on. Such as the fact that, despite her relaxed posture, Yachiru was clinging onto his clothes with a vice-like grip – her misleadingly small hands clutching his Captain's haori and precious scarf as if fuelled by encompassing desperation. Whatever motives drove this action – for the reason was never subconscious with her – Byakuya was beyond analysing right now. Contemplation was for a later date (when he was well rested) or never (if he wanted to save pointlessly invested energy and brain power).

Byakuya slowly reached up and started to gently pry the girl off, his movements testament to his wariness – he was acutely aware that one wrong, sudden action would end all hope of liberalisation and any opportunity to sink into sleep would be instantly terminated. However, he was Kuchiki Byakuya; noble in bearing, a pillar of strength and fine example. He did not fail. He would not fail. To consider such an option in his presence was an insult. This would be no different.

Beside Kusajishi Yachiru, determination alone was meaningless. The fukutaichou was a limpet, demonized and unyielding. Even as Byakuya's determination became tinged with desperation and his gentle prying dissolved into hefty yanks the girl still resisted. Time's locomotion was stretched out and added to the heaviness of the atmosphere. Urgency pressed ever deeper into Byakuya's mind and he even stood up, rose in a fluid motion and began to swing his body from side to side, the jerking movements an effort to remove the girl from his person. Any witnesses (there were none, of course) would have been treated to the sight of Kuchiki Byakuya performing what appeared to be a rather odd dance, Kusajishi Yachiru immovable on his shoulder. Yes, it did not appear to be succeeding in fulfilling its purpose – instead of falling off the Kuchiki's shoulder Yachiru had let out a giggle and muffled, disjointed words.

"Fun... more... ride..."

This was swiftly followed by her snuggling into Byakuya's shoulder, further imprinting her drool onto his priceless scarf. The Kuchiki Head drooped again, a sigh which spoke of waning patience accompanying it. Some part of his mind had flinched at the now defiled precious artifact around his neck, and he could only hope that the priceless item was washable. If not, then... he may as well lie in his own freshly dug grave for a future of eternal slumber. _Even dormant the girl never ceases to add to my suffering._

Every second that this dragged on was one less which he could use to sleep. This was scaling new heights of ludicrous – it had long passed the sign marked 'out of hand'. He refused to be ridiculed like this; he was Kuchiki Byakuya: Head of a prestigious noble family! He commanded respect and should not be forced into doing such a menial task as babysitting a sugar-high, manic and indecent little girl! Perhaps this was an overreaction on his part, but in his fatigued state he could not bring himself to care. All the time he had a keen sense of his composure crumbling, plummeting into nonentity. Grace was slowly losing, being cast aside – he felt it intensely but could do nothing. The only thing that might rebuild it was a distant concept that he longed to chase and feel. Rest. _Sleep_.

For all that he was tired and tarnished, his determination did not diminish. Determination, stubbornness, it mattered little how you phrased it. Kuchiki Byakuya would not give up. He, Kuchiki Byakuya... would not fail.

His determination took action; a sharp, strong movement which brought results. Kusajishi Yachiru was finally flung off; dethroned, removed from his person and was flying through the air... a pink blur...

Heading straight towards a wall. Now, perhaps Byakuya should have been worrying about how badly Zaraki Kenpachi would maul him if he found his fukutaichou had eaten wall, slid down it to reveal permanent disfigurement and damage that would take an age to heal (not that this was likely of course, but still)... However, only one fact concerned him. One thought rang in his head – if she hit that wall with that amount of force, then she would most certainly awaken.

And he... to put it vulgarly... would be screwed.

He had to avoid this disastrous fate.

Byakuya's eyes widened briefly, the only physical reaction to thoughts of his impending doom. He acted swiftly, with the definition and grace of a Kuchiki, and dived. Soaring through the air, hands outstretched... he caught Yachiru.

Hitting the wall head-first himself in the process. There was a painful pause as Byakuya tensed, breathing heavily – both at the unpleasant feeling of impact (it was a marvel his kenseikan hadn't cracked) and the possible disaster he could have caused. A beat (albeit a prolonged one) and the moment was over. Byakuya let himself relax slightly. Yachiru had not been roused. Again, another opportunity to thank Kami-sama.

He could not relax completely, however. He must press on. This was nowhere near over yet. Rising slowly, Byakuya hastily deposited the fukutaichou on a nearby cushion before she decided to turn limpet-like again. He _was not_ prepared to endure such an occurrence for a second time. Byakuya turned his attention to the next issue at hand, shunning the previous problem to the confines of the past. _Issue number 2: Exiting the office._

Yes, his current surroundings rendered normally such a simple task considerably more... troublesome. For some reason which had long vanished into the shadowed recesses of his mind, he (and Yachiru) was located presently in his fukutaichou's office. Abarai Renji's workplace could never have been labelled 'tidy' but it was now the epitome of a bomb site. Yachiru had made it almost unrecognisable during her long reign as the Sugar Queen – furniture, papers and ornaments alike were sprawled around and heaped haphazardly, similar mountainous monstrosities visible from every direction. Contents of cabinets and even junk which he was sure _did not_ usually belong in the room were piled high wherever there was space. A junkyard; a bomb site, lumps of items taller than Byakuya were obstructions, obstacles, beings of ill intent. Everywhere spoke of injury and noise _noise NOISE_ if he did not time and co-ordinate his movements correctly. Such was the disarrayed state of the room that he could not even see the door from where he was standing. He knew the direction it was in – all he needed to do was start from the ideal position...

No. From that side the junk pile was impenetrable. Scanning the area around him, Byakuya soon spotted an opening. There. Under a chair which was jammed between what appeared to be a waste bin, an assortment of shelves and a rusted bicycle. He could crawl through and take the long way around.

Kuchiki Byakuya resisted the urge to sigh. _Great_. He had better get started. Approaching with deliberate steps he soon stopped in front of the target, paused and took a moment to carefully tuck his scarf underneath his clothes (that was the best protection he could currently gift it with). The (wise) precaution taken, Byakuya dropped to his knees and crawled into the hole. His ability to appreciate irony had not disappeared – this was the second instance he had been forced to his knees because of Renji (however indirectly this time). _In this case, by his furniture._ The possible implication that he was losing his touch was not a balm to Byakuya's ego.

By no means was the Kuchiki Head a regular navigator of the underground, but this was easily the strangest tunnel he had journeyed through thus far. As it was made up with carelessly piled junk, he could also conclude that it was the most insecure. As he crawled (a lot of his former elegance of movement replaced by sluggishness) Byakuya also noticed that said tunnel was narrowing, the amount it did so increasing the further he travelled – impressing on one the distasteful notion that the haphazard walls were closing in around him. No, the threat of being crushed to death (or serious injury) by the very 'walls' surrounding him was apparently just not enough anymore.

It did not matter. Kuchiki Byakuya had no room in his existence for claustrophobia (but seemingly enough presence of mind to stumble across appalling puns). He pressed on, only stopping to narrow his eyes at part of the 'ceiling' – pressed paperwork assigned by him to his fukutaichou, due tomorrow and only half-completed. It taunted him, was something which in his view did not cast his vice captain in an endearing light at all. Yes, Byakuya was looking forward to watching Abarai Renji tidy up his current crime scene of an office. The horror on Abarai's face, the hours of unbridled slog and pure back-breaking work in store for him... Byakuya would assign him the task as soon as possible. Delegating jobs, in this case, was certainly one of the perks of being a taichou.

Not that this mattered in his current situation. He had unwisely delegated the task of watching Yachiru to no one else (admittedly the girl had refused to be parted from his company) but himself, and he was now paying the price for it. He was in motion once more only to find himself again having to halt his advance. This time it was necessary to do so in order to avoid a nasty collision with the corner of an indiscernible object (though it did remind him of a sharp and wooden table leg). He was required to flatten his form even further and reluctantly did so, shoving himself against the floor and tensing in a displeasing imitation of a sheet of paper. He then proceeded to manoeuvre awkwardly around the obstacle, discomfort forgotten in his efforts to pass. However ungainly his actions they contributed towards success, and Byakuya was before long moving on. Jaw set he approached a welcome physical representation of the phrase 'the light at the end of the tunnel'. Said light did indeed signal imminent escape from this unsteady passageway, though regrettably not from the office in its entirety. That was in progress.

As he climbed out and straightened, Byakuya estimated that he was a quarter of the way around. Not good enough. More distance needed to be traversed. He slowly scanned his current surroundings, quickly gaining a reasonable idea of how to cross the location up ahead of him. Thankfully there was not a tunnel in sight, such an option instead had been replaced by a towering wall of detritus, thick and foreboding in appearance. However Byakuya was little phased by the obstacle ahead of him – like all things it relied on appearance to give a first, uneasy impression. Nothing was foreboding about this wall. It was a mere triviality; nothing more than a nuisance, a drain of his precious time. It did not intimidate him. It barely deserved the title of a wall – Byakuya could actually tell that it was a network of openings; framework; a spider's web if you will. Such a task of passing through it was not worth calling 'tricky'. 'Irritating' was a more appropriate description. It required a mixture of ducking, crouching and crawling. Fatigue prompted more of his dry side to come out, more sarcastic thoughts to clutter his brain. _Fantastic_. At the prospect of such a joyful undertaking – why, he could barely contain his _excitement_...

It was pointless clouding his brain with such notions. Necessity drove him to take up such a task, and he would do so without complaint. He began weaving his way through the chaotic network, keeping a steady but slow pace born out of caution. Every delicate movement was carefully considered and pulled off due to the insecure environment – or it normally would have been. The weariness that had long set in was gradually effecting his mobility; his usual grace and elegance of motion was declining into ill-timed lethargy. Byakuya was aware of the fact that it was natural for sluggishness to set in when one's energy was low, but it was disconcerting for his co-ordination to not be at its usual high standard. It was _frustrating _when the smallest of slips caused injury, and he more than once had caught a hand or foot on a sharp edge and had physically felt the shabby framework around him sway dangerously in warning. The smallest of slips perhaps, but in situations like this the paltry gained significance. Such moments induced frustration, the sharpness of the feeling higher in quantity than normal also due to fatigue. He knew he was better than that... it was intolerable that his body was adding weight to the already pressing possibility of failure in his mission. His body was _failing him_. Such a notion was _impossible_.

Yes, impossible. He had to hold onto that. He could not lose his grip on his composure or his sanity, no matter how impelling the desire to collapse into sleep was. He, Kuchiki Byakuya... did not, _would not_ give up.

The last opening to squeeze through did present quite a challenge, as one look at it was enough to tell that the hole was about the same width as him. If not less. Byakuya refused to balk at such an issue and instead, praying that the worse case scenario was not about to happen, he dragged himself forwards and ideally out of the opening.

...Ideally. At this current stop in time such ideals appeared to be delusions, inviting bad luck. Yes, you guessed it... Byakuya got stuck. Appallingly stuck, wedged between a shoebox, a thick steel bar and a chest of drawers. Aaah... you could almost hear the _CLANG _that was the harsh blow administered to his pride.

There was a distant sound of a little girl murmuring in her peaceful sleep.

Kuchiki Byakuya narrowed his tiring eyes. _Damn Zaraki, the base bastard_. See if he babysitted for this long again! The next time something similar occurred... he was foisting the brat _straight_... _on_... _Renji_. That would show him, the disrespectful fool. Nevertheless, such thoughts were for the future. Presently, he had to remove himself from this disgraceful position. Byakuya started struggling – he could manage such a task, of course – heaving – it would merely take a short amount of time – yanking – escape would be imminent – _forcing _his body out...

He finally exited the junk pile network. No, that wasn't quite the word for it. What occurred bore more resemblance to that of a cork popping out of a wine bottle. _RIIIIIIIP _...Accompanied by the sound of his captain's haori tearing as it was forced away from the steel bar that it had been caught on.

Kuchiki Byakuya flew through the air...

Landing with a splash. Yes, a splash. Excessive amounts of glue lay on this part of the floor, mixed in with pink glitter and multicoloured paper shapes (part of an effort to quell the demon child's boredom). Byakuya rose slowly, his manner in rising and overall appearance bearing a strong resemblance to some glue-drenched, glitter-covered monster of doom. He was truly unrecognisable – a once fine stature now laced with tiredness and cold fury in equal measure. His pristine form was soaked, clothes torn and multicoloured, jet-black hair now a glittering pink. _This_ was what he had been reduced to... It was ludicrous, intolerable. He mentally noted to himself about having a talk with Ayasegawa Yumichika, 11th Division Fourth Seat, in the near future about giving Abarai Renji a makeover. Byakuya resisted the urge to growl. _A permanent one_. His somewhat currently addled mind did not consider that Renji was not truly at fault, Yachiru was – or perhaps he was well aware of such a fact but was merely targeting the easier subject to blame.

He had to move on – this obscene event merely further impressed upon Byakuya that time was scarce; a commodity he currently possessed little of. In addition to the main problem he now had to hasten his actions before the glue dried. The consequences would be equally nasty if he failed. His situation also did not aid his cause – since he had fallen head first into the abhorrent pool, his sight was now greatly restricted. _Brilliant_. Anyone who claimed that the nobles had it easy were vacuous plebeians who wallowed in their limitless ignorance.

Byakuya plowed on, determined that near-blindness, tarnished condition, numerous obstacles and lack of time would not hamper his mission. He knew which general direction to take, knew that he had almost accomplished his task. He was nearing the door now. His desire to escape would soon be realised. The Kuchiki Head veered around a corner and steadily walked forwards, one step at a time...

The floor was littered with objects, all of a relatively small size – pens, tubes, boxes, files – seemingly innocent things which were potential hazards. He navigated himself over or past these obstacles with ease, only having to stop once to remove a pen from the bottom of his shoe. It could be called a pity that he had to do so, as what occurred next might have been avoided.

Byakuya had paused, leaning heavily against the nearest wall (a real one this time) as he reached down and pulled the offending item from the glue-ridden grip of his footwear. It was necessary to do so – leaving it there and heightening the danger of himself falling was not a risk he was prepared to take. Such a slip in the wrong direction could put himself, and possibly even Yachiru, in jeopardy. It would be nasty to experience any of the mountainous junk piles surrounding the two falling on either one of them. However, the pen was swiftly removed, allowing Byakuya to resume approaching the door. In moving he accidentally nudged one of the nearby detritus constructed walls. It was unfortunate, so very unfortunate that by doing so he had shifted one of the components of the wall (a big potted plant, previously forced to curl back into the shape of a boomerang due to surrounding junk) causing the plant to swing around--

--And smack Byakuya forcefully in the face. His immediate reaction was to stumble backwards due to the strength of the blow, this response swiftly being followed by an attempt to remove said bushy end of plant from his face. Such a task was unaided by the substance that currently soaked his features. The glue, evidently, was an effective one as it took prolonged moments of wrangling before the plant was removed, shoved off so it ceased to smother him --

It swung back around again. This time, though, Byakuya was ready for it. He swiftly ducked (a cloud of pink glitter forming as he did so), swerved and reached for Senbonzakura to end this miserable tree's life --

Only to find that it was missing. Ah, of course... some part of his brain vaguely recalled leaving his zanpakutou in his _own _office considerably earlier on while he had been completing the 6th Division paperwork (a near constant duty which added to the tedious side of the position of taichou). As initially exasperating such a realisation was, it was in all likelihood for the best. After all, it was a plant – such beings were not usually inclined to deliberately attacking any person they came across. These thoughts did not have as calm an effect as they perhaps should have due to the fact that Byakuya had soon recognised exactly what that plant was. More specifically, where it had hailed from – he possessed the distinct memory of giving Abarai it some time ago in an effort to neaten up the fukutaichou's office. To discover that precisely the same plant had struck him years later was... disagreeable. The pain from such a blow lingered even now, but it was the implications and the addition to his already shameful situation which would leave more of a mark.

Despite the exhaustion which encompassed him Byakuya shot the leafy, innocent assailant a sharp look, delivering one of his more formidable glares through narrowed, glue-drenched eyes. _Renji's head injury had better be serious. _

Now that that had been dealt with, he would once more move on. He did so, his formerly steady pace increasing and his refined motion ebbing away, overwhelmed by an intense force. It could be labelled desire, need, or _desperation_ – however he was loathe to use such terms when only lowly people were ruled by said feelings. Fatigue could be a definition, but said tiredness was so strong that any form of the word could not adequately describe it. Byakuya stubbornly pressed on, his mind now fixed on the goal – sleep. Once he reached his bed and slept, only _then _could he claim success...

At last Kuchiki Byakuya staggered out of the door and exited the office. There was no relief, only the sense that one phase had ended and another one had just begun. However, it was true that the most dangerous part was over – as he was the Captain of this division he was privileged to know about certain routes in the area which were guaranteed to be empty, the current time of night (morning?) only solidifying this fact. The journey to his manor should be fairly easygoing. This was perhaps a first, welcome factor for some while which would serve to _ease _his humiliation instead of adding to it.

For a moment Byakuya merely stood, necessity driving him to pull himself together. However, this statement was not quite correct – such necessities were fast losing their grip on his mind; sliding, dropping off due to so little energy to sustain them. He stood there more to pause, to satisfy a desire which had almost overwhelmed him. His previous gait had given it away, and now his composure made it painfully obvious. Kuchiki Byakuya was slowly losing – indeed, the concept of victory was almost out of his grasp. It had been replaced by a more bitter notion; failure. The obscenity that he had failed and was about to give in and let sleep, this whole _situation_ take success and revel in it. Did it matter, though, when one took in his appearance? His composure was on the precipice, serenity so vague that it was a mere murmur of former status at the back of one's mind, lost forever to a tragic end and never to be mourned as it truly deserved. He now, quite literally, was drooping – standing lethargy that desperately clung onto posture. He barely retained his normal outward visage – shimmering _pink_ hair, multicoloured paper shapes almost a new scaly addition to his skin, his whole form oozing, _drenched _with glue which gradually hardened, encasing his degradation. At present he, Kuchiki Byakuya, could (and would) be called a disgrace. If all those people saw him now, all those people he was supposed to be a shining example to – they would laugh at him, jeer. All former respect suddenly gone to be replaced by pure and simple _mockery_.

For all that a part of his mind still droned on, insisted on delivering these thoughts – there was another. Another part of him that had not been reduced to a meaningless, fatigued whirlpool was determination. A small note of stubbornness which remained, eternally fighting for his pride, morals and what he believed in. It was that determination which made Byakuya carry on, it was free of ties to standards yet could be called an important factor of who he was. It was that determination which, if witnessed, added far more to Kuchiki Byakuya's admirable reputation than serenity ever could. It came into play now, once more drove Byakuya to keep moving, fighting until the very end. Yes, whatever the current situation could throw at him, however much it attacked his pride... it would not defeat him.

At the minute his state was not treating his processing kindly, so even these inspirational thoughts registered as somewhat garbled – but the overall feeling was still there. Stubbornness, the refusal to give up, ever moving him forwards. _Onwards..._

Byakuya jerked into motion once more, however sluggish. The first, daunting part was over – not much more remained. He would achieve his task. He turned, veering in the direction in which he was to travel...

Only to almost fall over in shock. If he had been his normal, optimum self he perhaps would have – however his present torpidity merely rendered him motionless and he instead stared ahead, an almost deadened expression barely visible on his colourful, sticky face. Through slitted eyes the sight of a beaming Kusajishi Yachiru greeted him.

Kusajishi Yachiru.

Kusajishi Yachiru, a painful reminder of how this had all begun; the main cause of his current situation and state... He had thought that the main trouble had ended. _Hah_, how naïve he was.

Hell was pink, the floor perhaps splattered with vivid red blood. His own, hers (..no, never hers) or Renji's it was impossible to tell.

Yachiru blinked up at him, and there was a beat before she burst into giggles.

"Hehehehehe! You look funny, Byakushi!"

Byakuya closed his eyes in a long-suffering motion as a sudden wave of weariness crashed into him. Nothing more than adding to the sea...

She'd stopped laughing and Byakuya made to open his eyes to view her expression. However, it seemed that the glue had done its job at last – his lids were thoroughly fixed shut. No amount of attempts would force them open, or at least Byakuya did not try too much. It suddenly seemed pointless. The final blow to the pride that he would endure. The last thread of composure cast to the winds. All will to stay awake had disappeared. The exhaustion felt like a burden he did not have to bear. Heavy and pressing... all these components made him snap. The sight of Yachiru had been the final straw. He would not have to deal with her... if he... slept...

It was a pathetically easy decision to make.

Yachiru was speaking again. It did not matter, the words did not truly register as they floated vaguely into his brain. He already felt himself sinking into serenity...

"Where are we going? Can we--"

Yachiru's grin slipped when Byakuya leaned forwards, forwards... and collapsed, hitting the floor with a muffled, almost understated thump.

* * *

**A/N: **This idea popped out of nowhere one day, and as usual when I'd finished it was at least double the length I thought it was going to be. This is my first time writing Byakuya so it would be good to know what you thought of characterisation, etc. I'm not too certain about the title and summary, but what I settled for was the best I could think of. This is rated T just in case. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it... thanks for reading! Until next time!


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